Seeing What I Once Dismissed

When the Right I Believed In Let the Mask Slip

I’ve been writing for a while now at Left-Brain Twist about the evolution of the right—and my growing disillusionment with what the Republican Party has become in the Trump era. But this piece is different. It isn’t just about policy or power. It’s about people. It’s about what happens when the lines you thought you shared with friends and allies begin to blur.

I used to push back—firmly—when people said the Republican Party was racist.

When critics on the left accused conservatives of hiding racial animus behind small-government principles or tough-on-crime policies, I assumed they’d been misled. I believed they’d been taught to see dog whistles where there were none, to conflate firm policy with cruelty, and to project historical injustice onto those working in good faith to prevent new injustices. I stood by my belief that conservative principles—limited government, personal responsibility, cultural cohesion—helped everyone.

And in many cases, I still believe that was true. Back then.

But now, something’s changed. And I can no longer say, with any honesty, that those accusations are always wrong. Because when I look at the shape of the modern right—what it says, what it cheers, what it tolerates—I find myself thinking what I never expected to:

Some of those people on the left had a point about what the right was becoming.

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What I Thought Conservatism Was

I came to conservatism not because of talk radio or outrage politics, but because it made sense. It respected limits. It valued process. It wasn’t about controlling others—it was about preventing others from controlling me. The government wasn’t supposed to be your parent, your therapist, or your savior. It was supposed to referee fairly and then get out of the way.

When liberals accused Republicans of being motivated by racial animus, I defended the policies in question:

• Law and order? That helped everyone, especially the poor and working class.

• Border security? That wasn’t about hating immigrants—it was about maintaining sovereignty.

• Welfare reform? Not about cruelty—about encouraging independence and dignity.

I once stood by Ed Meese’s old retort: “If ‘law and order’ is code for racism, then what’s the code for law and order?” That line always resonated with me. It assumed that the principle itself was worth defending on its own merit—and that those who saw bigotry where I saw structure had simply misunderstood the goal.

But today, I’m no longer so sure that misunderstanding is theirs alone.

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What I See Now

Now I see a movement that doesn’t even pretend to care about principle. One that:

• Cheers when politicians mock the disabled, denigrate women, and flirt with white nationalism.

• Replaces limited government with a lust for power—so long as it’s wielded against their enemies.

• Finds amusement in cruelty, and courage in mob behavior.

• Doesn’t just tolerate racism and fascism at the edges—but increasingly embraces them at the center.

I recently saw a video of a MAGA supporter proudly calling himself a fascist during a public debate, as if it were some edgy badge of honor. And I realized: the mask isn’t slipping anymore. It’s being tossed aside—and too many in the crowd are applauding.

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Not All, But Enough

I don’t believe all MAGA supporters are racist—or even that most are. Many are simply frustrated, angry, or feel left behind by cultural and economic shifts. Some are decent people who genuinely think Trump fights for them, even if I strongly disagree with what that “fight” has become.

But the MAGA movement itself? I can’t get behind it. Too much of it thrives on grievance, fear, and division. Too much of it flirts with ideas I never thought I’d hear openly embraced in America—at least not by people who call themselves patriots.

I also don’t believe Donald Trump is actively racist. He doesn’t appear to have any coherent worldview beyond self-interest. But I do think he is passively racist in the worst way: he’s perfectly comfortable accepting the support of racists, winking at their rhetoric, and tolerating their behavior so long as they cheer for him. He won’t denounce them unless he’s cornered—and even then, he’ll soften it to avoid losing their loyalty.

And while I don’t think that makes every MAGA supporter a bad person, I can’t ignore what this dynamic has done to the broader right. It’s turned the GOP from a party of principles into a cult of personality that thrives on outrage and selective loyalty.

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Was It Always There?

That’s the part that haunts me.

Were these beliefs always bubbling beneath the surface, hidden behind euphemism and polite politics? Or did Trump’s rise simply pull from the pool of the disaffected and disinterested—the low-information, high-agitation crowd who felt empowered to step into the light once someone told them their worst instincts were patriotic?

I don’t know.

What I do know is that people I used to consider allies—smart, decent people—now spend more time defending Trump’s latest cruelty than they ever did defending constitutional government.

I’ve heard friends who once preached humility in leadership now swoon over strongman tactics. I’ve seen family who once believed character mattered now shrug at things they would’ve denounced as vile a decade ago. And I can’t ignore it anymore.

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I Still Believe What I Believe

None of this means I’ve embraced the left’s ideas. I still find most progressive policies unworkable, unrealistic, or unmoored from human nature. I still believe in subsidiarity, in local governance, in individual liberty constrained by moral responsibility.

But I no longer reflexively reject the critiques that “the right” has become something ugly. Because in too many cases, it has.

And I’m not willing to defend it just because the other side might exploit my admission. Let them. The truth matters more.

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The Illusion That Broke the Spell

Trump’s illusion of strength is only part of the story. The harder truth is how many people I once respected were eager to follow his lead—not despite his cruelty, but because of it. They didn’t need to be deceived. They were ready.

These days, when I see a MAGA hat, I’m reminded of Glinda’s question to Dorothy:

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch?”

I don’t ask it aloud, of course. But it lingers. Because like it or not, the hat now comes with baggage.

And I’m no longer pretending it doesn’t.